


Baby, It's Bad Out There

by damnslippyplanet



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Lithuanian Christmas Traditions, Mid-Season-One-Ish, Murdersexual Caretaking, Sleepwalking, Sorry Not Sorry, Spot the Lyric References To Baby It's Cold Outside, Will Should Probably Wear Pants To Bed, non-con drugging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-07 23:48:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5475065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damnslippyplanet/pseuds/damnslippyplanet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or: Hannibal is just trying to get a nice spot of Christmas Eve murder in when he finds a police officer and a sleepwalking Will at his front door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby, It's Bad Out There

It’s after midnight, Christmas Eve just surrendering to Christmas Day, when Hannibal returns from the evening’s exertions. He nearly drives straight past his house when he sees a police car in the driveway. Straight to his nearest safe house to lie low and figure out what they know about him. With the cooler of fresh meat tucked safely in his trunk, he wouldn’t even need to stop to stock the refrigerator.

He’s stopped only by a glimpse of Will Graham standing at his doorstep, wrapped in a blanket with bare legs peeking out underneath. Will’s seen the car and is saying something to the officer at his side, gesturing toward Hannibal. Too late to leave. Not that he intends to, now - if Will had come to arrest Hannibal, he’d probably be wearing pants. This is something else.

Hannibal pulls into a parking spot on the street and takes stock of himself quickly The cooler will be safe as long as he doesn’t have to open his trunk. If he does, the game will be over - the trash bag full of his bloody plastic suit will be hard to explain away. 

He cleaned up face and hands before coming home. His hair’s messy but not, he hopes, bloody. He rakes a quick hand through it to try to put it into some kind of order. He thinks he’ll pass inspection by two people who have no reason to be suspicious.

By the time he gets to his front door he’s arranged his face into a politely quizzical expression and manages not to crack a smile at Will’s tousled hair, bare feet, and mix of fury and bewilderment at his current predicament. Will hails him with one hand, clutching the blanket tight with the other, and starts to talk as soon as Hannibal is within earshot: “Will you please tell Larry here that you’re a doctor?”

The officer, apparently Larry, looks rather aggrieved. Will has, perhaps, been a bit rude to him. “You’re his doctor?”

“I'm his friend, and a doctor. Good evening, officer. Will. What’s going on here?”

“We found Will here--”

Will interrupts, all irritation. “I was sleepwalking again, apparently. Only Larry here is concerned about frostbite with all the snow. So instead of taking me home, he wants to take me to the ER to be checked out. I told him to bring me here instead. We were nearly here anyway.” His expression is almost pleading - _please help me handle this quietly, I don’t want a permanent record of this, help me keep it from Jack._

Sometimes it’s just too easy. Sometimes life hands Hannibal everything he wants on a silver platter, tied up with a neat little bow for Christmas. It’s almost enough to make a grown man believe in Santa Claus, albeit a Santa Claus with slightly skewed views of “naughty" and “nice.”

“You’re always welcome here, Will. You know that my home is always open to you. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to greet you.” Hannibal turns to the officer and gives his best rendition of Authoritative Doctor. “Will was right, I’m qualified and able to diagnose and treat frostbite. But it was good of you to suggest he be examined, as cold as it is this evening and as far as he must have walked. I can take it from here. Thank you.” 

Larry doesn’t protest at the abrupt dismissal. He’s got other things to do and probably other places he’d rather be on Christmas than dealing with an angry groggy half-dressed man, and he’s happy to let Will be someone else’s problem. He takes the blanket back and departs quickly, and Hannibal ushers a shivering Will into the house and into the nearest comfortable chair.

With the officer and the immediate threat of being hauled to the ER gone, Will fades from anger into embarrassment. Hannibal notes the flush with both an artist’s eye and a doctor’s - good blood flow, and lovely coloring. 

He could try to reduce Will’s discomfort with some kind words and the offer of a pair of pants. But he rather likes the discomfort. 

Instead, he hands Will a soft throw blanket that usually lives draped on the sofa. Will’s fingers are icy when they brush against his own. “Wrap yourself up in that and stay warm. I’m going to get you something hot to drink, and then we’ll investigate the frostbite question. Stay, Will,” he adds sharply as Will starts to protest and to stand up. “If you do have frostbite you shouldn’t be walking around until you’ve been treated. Frankly, I probably should have carried you in here, but I didn’t think you’d like that much.”

Will looks away sharply. There’s the discomfort again, and the flush. Right down to Will’s bare toes, indicating frostbite probably isn’t going to be a problem after all. Blushing as medical diagnostic. It’s not approved medical technique, but much more fun.

Hannibal disappears into the kitchen and pulls out milk, cocoa, sugar, vanilla, and cinnamon. While the milk starts to warm up, he makes a detour to his medicine cabinet and returns with a sleeping pill as well. It’ll add a slight grainy texture, but with the Mexican chocolate he’s using it shouldn’t be too noticeable. And Will needs the rest. More importantly, Hannibal needs the time to empty his car trunk and clean up properly. He doesn't fancy driving Will home in a fresh crime scene.

By the time he returns to Will with two mugs full of thick, steaming hot chocolate, he finds Will’s settled himself inside the folds of the blanket as instructed. He doesn’t look any happier about his predicament but he sticks a hand out from his makeshift nest to take the mug. “Thank you. For all of this. I’m sorry to impose, especially tonight. I can take a cab home and get out of your hair if you’ll lend me some pants and cab fare. I can pay you back tomorrow.”

Hannibal shrugs it off, takes a sip from his own mug, and then sets it on a side table to go build up a fire. “It’s not an imposition. And you should stay. It’s miserable out there, and Jack will never forgive me if I send you back out into the cold without being properly tended. He won’t stand for his best profiler down with pneumonia.”

“Jack worries too much. You do, too. I’ll thaw out a little and then go.” Will shifts in his chair, uncomfortable being worried about. He’d probably be pacing if he weren’t currently forbidden from standing up.

“I had no plans for tomorrow other than enjoying a day off. You’re welcome to stay. I’ll drive you back after breakfast.” Will’s still looking uncomfortable but he’s sipping at his drugged cocoa and Hannibal wants to keep him that way, so he offers some running commentary as he works on the fire. “Christmas Day isn’t nearly the event in Lithuania that it is in America, you know. When I was a boy, Christmas Eve was much more of an occasion than Christmas Day. Everyone gathered for a special meal. We lit candles for the dead and those who could not be with us.” _Mischa_. He still lights a candle for her every year but Will doesn’t need to know that. “The shape of the shadows cast by the candles on the wall predicts the fortune you will have in the year ahead.”

Will leans back in his chair and barks a short laugh at that. “Please don’t tell me what my shadow says. I can’t imagine it’s anything good. And if I lit candles for my dead it would be...a lot of candles.”

“You’re thinking of those you carry with you from your work, not just your family.”

“Both.” 

Will doesn’t elaborate and Hannibal doesn’t push him. He finishes with the fire and moves over to kneel by Will’s chair. Will demurs and fidgets but lets Hannibal inspect his hands one at a time - shifting his warm mug between them - and then his feet. Will’s feet are scratched up and still quite cold even after a few minutes inside, but Hannibal doesn’t think there’s any real danger. His hands are warm from holding the mug. He smells like snow and pine trees. His omnipresent fever makes his breath sweet and his eyes burn like grey-blue stars.

Hannibal wonders, briefly but not for the first time, if he may miss Will when he’s done maneuvering him into the required position to secure his own safety. Perhaps he’ll be lighting two candles next Christmas Eve.

He releases Will’s left foot and watches it drawn up into the blanket, from which now only Will’s head and the one hand holding the hot chocolate are emerging.

“Well, doctor? Am I in danger of losing any fingers or toes?”

“I think you’ll live.” Hannibal pushes himself upright with a hand on the arm of Will’s chair and looms over him for a moment before stepping back. “But I really would prefer to monitor you for at least a little while. Finish your drink. I’m going to run you some warm water to soak your feet, they’re the worst of it. If you still want to leave after you’ve warmed them up, I’ll drive you home.”

“I could have picked a better season to start sleepwalking, I guess.” Will grumbles and glares at the fire as if it’s somehow responsible for the snowstorm, and his sleepwalking into it. He finishes the last of the hot chocolate and hands the mug off to Hannibal as he leaves the room to run a basin of warm water.

By the time Hannibal comes back, he thinks Will’s starting to look a little drowsy. Perhaps just the slightest bit glassy-eyed. He slips his feet into the warm water and sighs, melting into the chair. “Okay. Maybe I do need to warm up a little more before I go anywhere. That feels pretty good.”

“Stay there and rest. I’m going to clean up a bit in the kitchen and then I’ll come back and check on you. Call if you need anything, don’t get up yet.” Hannibal rests a hand on Will’s shoulder briefly and then returns to the kitchen.

He takes his time washing the mugs and saucepan for the cocoa, with one eye on the snow swirling outside. It really is getting bad out there. It would make sense for Will to stay the night even if that hadn’t been his intention all along. Another little Christmas gift from the universe.

While he makes up the guest bed, Hannibal takes a moment to consider the contents of his trunk, all but forgotten in the unexpected surprise of Will Graham on his doorstep. He’d considered a Ripper tableau for the sheer enjoyment of dragging half the FBI out of their homes on Christmas Day, but had decided against it and now he’s glad. A leisurely breakfast sounds like a much more enjoyable way to spend the morning, now that he’ll have company. 

It will be a Christmas gift Will won’t ever know he received from Hannibal - the gift of simply eating the dead man at a friendly breakfast, instead of being forced to view his corpse and relive his death. Merry Christmas, Will Graham, from the Chesapeake Ripper.

By the time he returns to the living room, Will’s half-asleep in his chair and he mumbles groggily, “Maybe I will stay. If you’re sure it’s not a problem.”

“None at all. I made up the guest bed. I’m clearing you to walk now, although carrying you is still an option.”

He says it mostly to amuse himself but is surprised when Will seems to be considering it for just a moment. He considers the weight and pleasant willing warmth of a _live_ body in his arms, but in the end Will decides to walk himself to the guest room. He’s stayed there once or twice before and knows the way, but he’s wobbling. Hannibal can’t quite help himself from casting a quick glance at Will’s shadow against the wall in the firelight, when he stands up. The shadow wavers uncertainly, and is almost instantly swallowed up by Hannibal’s own shadow as he reaches to steady Will. Fitting enough. Maybe there’s something to superstition.

Hannibal gets Will to the guest room and between the fresh sheets and leaves him there to rest. He comes back a few minutes later to be sure Will’s really out, and then he closes the door and goes downstairs.

He’s getting a later start than he intended, and there’s much to do. The car to clean, a thorough shower to take, his trophies to be put away in the basement freezer until he can prepare them properly. He takes a moment to organize his plans, and then slips quietly out the front door and to the car, to begin the second half of his night’s work.

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas, buttercups, from [Damnslippyplanet Enterprises](http://damnslippyplanet.tumblr.com).


End file.
